Winter's Howl
by happinesstrap
Summary: Clary Morgenstern has moved from her hometown, New York, to a tiny town called Creede in the middle of nowhere. It's nothing special, but when new discoveries come to light, Clary begins to doubt who she really is. Or, what. However, a gorgeous, arrogant boy who talks to no-one seems to be the only person who can help her now. Claws? Canines? It's all to much for a city girl.
1. Chapter 1

**Winter's Howl  
**

 **Hi everyone! I'm sorry that 'Shattered Mirrors' didn't work out but I promise that I'll get it up and running again. Meanwhile, I wanted to put out story out because I've been working on it for ages. I hope you like this, please review.  
**

 **This story is supernatural and the concept of this fanfic is inspired by other supernatural stories. I hope you like it, I've been switching around the ideas, their mostly original, though.**

 **By the way, this is from a young Clary's mind. She's only a child in this chapter. Please enjoy this and read on!  
**

 **Chapter 1.**

A round of giggles threatened to escape from my lips; frantically, I clamped a chubby hand over my mouth. Laughter racked my fragile shoulders and my wild mane of red hair bounced wickedly around my head, writhing like the unconstrained flames of a stoked fire. The air was completely silent, yet there was an impending threat of disruption, like the calm before a storm.

Mystery filled the air like hot gas; I felt it surround me and leak into my lungs as I continued to laugh like a maniac.

I loved hide and seek. It was a childhood game that would eventually turn into beautiful, distant memories that comprised of myself and my mother. Even though my mother would always find me, it was the thrill of it that I loved.

Predator and prey.

My hiding spot was a brilliantly, well thought-out place. It was in the spare guest room, under the single bed that stood stoically in the middle of the small, compacted chamber that was intended for distant aunties, uncles and cousins. More giggles were bubbling in my chest, each increasing in volume as I try to hide my tiny body under the mattress.

It wasn't hard, considering my small, delicate limbs and legs that were like thin twigs. Then, I hear a distant creak, a noise that causes my thoughts to scatter abruptly. My breathing increased rapidly and my heart thumped wildly, caught up in the whirlwind excitement of this game. It all came with the bliss of a childhood, the hazy recollections of games and wonder.

My ears perked up and I listened desperately, for any other sound that would determine my seeker's whereabouts. When no noises come, I frown, my three-year-old mind searching for possibilities that could lead to the silence. I craned my head, my frown evaporating into a pout. Where was she?

"Where is my Clary?" My mother's teasing voice suddenly broke out, appearing as if from nowhere. I smiled, triumphant with my immaculate hearing, a sense that had not yet failed me. I burrow into the floor even more, the harsh carpet digging into the soft flesh of my skin.

"Where's my little baby girl?" I smiled, loving the idea of not being seen, of disappearing completely. I pressed myself flat against the scraggly carpet, one that matched the feel of my father's beard, after he had not shaven for a while. The air around me was thick with anticipation, the atmosphere basked with a hushed sort of silence. The fear of being found leaked into the tiny room like hot gas that quickly defiled the oxygen and replaced it with terror of discovery.

"When I find her," My mother's voice became soft and I strained to hear her whispered words, "I'm going to…gobble her up!" Her last few words were suddenly loud and despite the fact that she was my own flesh and blood, I trembled. But beneath the sudden fear, I felt the overwhelming urge to laugh once more. To keep my location hidden, I stuffed a small fist into my mouth, giggles racking my narrow frame uncontrollably.

And then, there was a silence that swallowed the room whole.

I saw a blur, a quick flash of colors and my head whipped, looking around for the indistinguishable shape that seemed to move like the wind. I peered out from under the blank covers, one hand clenched into a fist, the other muffling the sounds from my mouth. My features school into one of confusion, of frustration of not understanding. What was happening…? Suddenly, two nimble hands grabbed my waist and I was yanked out from under the bed. Squeals erupted from my chest and I thrashed viciously in a pair of strong arms. I kept laughing, nonetheless, giggling as I was pulled into a heaving chest that blazed in warmth. My mother had always been really warm, but at times it was like being in the presence of an open flame.

"Gotcha!" My mother declared, nuzzling her face into my hair, keeping her tight grip on me. "There's my Clary! Now that I found her, I'm going to eat her up!" She then proceeded to fake-gobble, burrowing her face into my face as I shrieked, my yells of protest ringing out like a chime of bells.

"Mamma! Mamma, stop it!" I shouted, laughing, squirming in her iron grip. "Mamma, you win! Stop, stop!" Planting wet kisses on the top of my head, she spun me around so that I was facing her. She continued to assault my face with her lips, kissing my nose, cheeks and forehead. I squirmed, disgusted by my mother's loving antics.

"Okay, you little minx! It's you're bedtime miss Clary, so you better be heading off," my mother finished, but not before granting me with one more kiss.

"Imma not tired!" I said defiantly, struggling to make out the constants. The lady at preschool lectured me on my speech often, much to my mother's displeasure. 'Children are supposed to learn at their own pace!' She would argue with her. Mrs Williams was very strict on pronunciation, having a French background. My mother raised an elegant eyebrow, tightening her hold on me. It was protective, loving and warm, and familiar. It was how every child was held by their mother.

"How about a bedtime story?" She asked me, something like hesitation igniting in her eyes. My mother never hesitated, or showed any nervous behavior. She was the sure, solid rock that grounded our family of three to the ground.

"Bedtime story!" I smiled widely, showing off an array of under-developed teeth.

"Anything, sweetheart," she said softly, stroking my plump cheeks with a gentleness that was indescribable. Faster than light, she swung me up and approached the door with a robustness, yet also an elegance in her movements. I was still gathered in the circle of her arms, rocking along to the sway of her steps. My room was slightly bigger than the guestroom, but still small in comparison to my parent's large chamber room. It was a splay of colors, decorated with all of my finger-painting masterpieces and self-portraits of myself and my family. My mother set me gently on the worn blanket that had once been a brilliant pink, but was now a dull rose color that clashed with the vibrant hue of my red hair.

I snuggled up against the headrest, clutching my favored toy to my chest. I glanced up eagerly, expectant, towards my smiling mother, who had settled herself comfortably on the side of my single bed. She pulled the thick blanket over my small body and tucked me in, long slender fingers adjusting my position. She hummed a gentle, indistinguishable lullaby that I could not make out, but I sighed happily as warmth spread over me like mist on a cool, winter morning.

"Story, mamma," I said firmly, regretfully cutting off her tuneful melody, "You promise."

"Yes, darling," she said, resting a warm hand against my rounded cheek, "the story."

I closed my sagging eyes, weariness washing over me as the tide rages war against the shore. The atmosphere was extremely relaxing, comfortable in the peaceful hum of the crickets that chirped happily outside. It was a gentle summer evening, one that was a blur of sunny beaches and painful sunburns.

"Long ago," my mother began, with a wistful tone to her quiet voice, "there was a tribe of warriors that lived in the most remote part of the world. They were the guardians of the ancient lands, protectors of the creatures and saviors of history. They were called the Et lupum, also known as the wolf people. The chief of this tribe was a smart and peaceful one, who was respected by all of his people." My mother had me completely enchanted, wrapped in this story. Some of the complex words, I couldn't understand, but it was still captivating. Sighing, as she shifted in her spot, she continued.

"The Elders had the way of communicating with the Spirit world, where they could explore the past and the magic that came with their land. Their ancestors also lived in the Spirit Land, in which they could ask for guidance in troubled times."

"Asesters?" I asked, struggling to make out the word. My mother then started to braid my red curls, effortlessly tying them into two plaits. She laughed, dimming the bright light that radiated from my lamp.

"That's right. _Ancestors_ , like mamma's grandma and grandpa."

"Ooh, okay. Keep going mamma!" I urged her on, sinking into my bed. The atmosphere of the room was heavy, soft as it slowly encouraged me to drift off to sleep.

"Yes, now where was I? Ah, the spirit land. It was very different from our normal world, alight with mystery and sorcery that had been practiced for centuries on. It was breathtaking," my mother sighed, probably envisioning the scene, just as I was doing, "absolutely magical. Anyways, the chief was speaking to his great grandfather one day, when the ancestor felt a great disturbance in the land. He informed the chief of this threat, and how it could destroy their way of life entirely if it was allowed to grow. The chief was hugely troubled by this and pleaded his ancestor for guidance.

"'You must find a beast,' were the ancestor's wise words, 'a powerful creature that had the strength of ten men, with the speed of a panther, and the wisdom of an owl. You must ask this beast if you can merge with its spirit, if you can share all the benefits that it holds. You will become the first lupus, the beginning of a powerful race that has one mandate; to protect mankind and guard its homeland. Your children and your children's children will also share this gift; as will your descendants and their family. Go forth, oldest Great Grandson, and bestow this gift to humanity.'

"The chief sought for this powerful creature, day and night. He looked across the lands, searching for the mysterious beast. He had just begun to give up, but it was then that he saw the great creature, one with yellow eyes that shone that topaz, a beast that had magnificent grey fur. The chief knew instantly that this was the creature, the animal that his ancestor had told him about. The chief humbly asked the creature to share its body, and explained that the threat would not only harm his people, but also the animals that roamed the lands. The wolf, it was called, accepted his request and together, they merged mind, body and soul."

"Animals can't talk, can they mamma?" I asked, my eyes already widened at the seductiveness of the story. She had finished tying my hair, her fingers slipping in between red locks of bright crimson.

"It depends," my mother winked. I frown at that, her question ringing in my head like a bell. "Once they had come together, there was no-one who dared conquer the creature, a beast that was half-man, half-wolf. A common mortal, who could transform into a huge, magnificent beast at will, well, who would have dared? The chief, true to his word, devoted his time to saving mankind from the other evils that threatened to perish the world."

"Other evils?" I questioned as I pulled Luna, my comfort toy, closer towards me.

"That's another story for another day. The ancestor had been right, for the chief's children were too, shape-shifters that could change at will. The tribe continued to live on, never changing as protectors, saviors and guardians. That is the end to our fateful story. Goodnight, my little Clary," She bent down to lightly kiss my forehead as she extinguished the lights. I lay, awestruck in my bed, as I watched her head for the door.

"Love you, mamma," I mumbled sleepily, rubbing my eyes. She turns to me once more, and I suddenly notice that there was a slightly yellow glow to them. Weren't her eyes green? I pushed aside the fact and listlessly thought it was the reflection of the bright lamp.

"I love you too, my puella."

I glance out the window and stare at the ominous moon. It hung in the sky like a great pearl, swallowed by an endless sea of darkness. Exhaustion won over and I found myself starting to slip into a dream-filled sleep.

"Goodnight, Et lupum." Those were the last words that I managed to murmur out before sleep captured me in its black claws.

That night I dreamt of howling wolves, large men with buttery-colored eyes and a Spirit world, where the untold roamed free.

 **Okay...hope you enjoyed that chapter. I'll update soon, I promise. The next chapter is where Clary is older and they've already moved cities. Clary's father is actually the 'good guy' in this story. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Winter's Howl**

 **Chapter 2 has arrived! Yay (screams with exhilaration). Please read on. In this version, Clary has lost her mother and her father's alive. But don't worry; he's a good guy and he loves Clary. However, he's really over-protective of her, like Jocelyn was but in this one it's twisted around.  
**

 **Please review and I hope you like this chapter!**

 **-Clary-**

"Are you sure? Do you have everything?" I rolled my eyes, annoyed at the frequency of this particular conversation. We had discussed this topic, previous times before, yet my father insisted on going through the 'do's and don't's' that we had already agreed to not talk about more than thrice.

My father's concern on this matter was both slightly worrying and irritable, but a relief nonetheless. It was like an exhale of breath to know that someone, even if it was by blood, cared for you so much. Even though, despite the love and patience I treated my parental unit with, it was a bit of a stretch of my father to have packed a dozen Band-Aids or so in the front pocket of my bag.

I mean, really. This was my first day at a new high school, not the first round of Logan's run.

"Last I checked, which was like a minute ago," I said, allowing sarcasm to color my indifferent tone. My father's petty worries were childish and expected of a parent, but it was overwhelming at times. It was sad, I had guessed, to see your child grow up, after spending most of their life clinging to your arm.

But I was no longer a little girl, even if my father refused to see that.

My father's over protectiveness had caused my rather dry sense of humor and sarcastic personality. It had also created a recklessness that I had been associated with in the past. It was a trait of mine that my father had constantly fretted about.

"Yes dear," my father said distractedly, meaning for his words to be soothing but instead having the opposite effect, "but I really think that you should check-"

"Dad," I said, if not sternly, "we have been over this, numerous times in fact. I have a phone, money, lunch and three pairs of house keys, because one apparently wasn't enough."

"I suppose, but if you were to get lost-"

"Then I would call you right away," I finished for him smoothly, trying to emphasis enough reassurance so that he would not fret more than he already was. I hold his calloused hands in my own, clasping his large fingers in my small ones.

"But if you lost your phone-"

"Then I would find a public payphone, and use the money you gave me to call you," I said firmly, patting his hands gently. I felt like any other regular adolescent teenager, faced with the continuous struggles of overbearing parents.

Or in my case, parent.

"And besides," I feel the need to add, "I could hardly get lost in this town. You get lost, take five steps to the left and bang! Your home," I said, rolling my eyes. Yes, I was being especially spiteful today. I knew it was wrong to take out my temper on dear old dad, but this whole 'moving plan' was his idea. It wasn't entirely his choice, though. He didn't have much of a say in whether he moved or not either. His boss had decided to relocate him halfway across the state to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. It was for his job, apparently, which I could sort of understand. It still didn't change my thoughts about moving cities, or the fact that I had to go with him.

He wasn't nearly as cautious as he had been in New York, but I supposed that was because Simon was constantly with me. This was an entirely new environment, but the only danger was wandering off into the forbidden over-age bar they had.

Creede, a tiny town that currently held the year-round population of around 400, was located in the state of Colorado. With constant weather changes, it was mostly covered by dense forests and snow-topped mountain hills. I had never even heard of it before my father told me but that wasn't exactly a surprise. The largest mall there was the local Wal-mart and it's spot on the map was barely even there, or non-existent.

My best friend Simon had been one of the reasons of why I didn't want to leave New York. He was like the brother I never had, the person I could go to for anything. He had been there for me my whole life and according to my father, we had even shared a crib together at preschool.

I had been uncooperative with my father's moving plans, but that shouldn't have been any sort of surprise, especially to my father who had been upset at the fact that I didn't want to move. I loved my hometown. I didn't want to leave wonderful, loud, crude New York. I wanted to smell the metallic taste of Brooklyn, see the hulking towers that twinkled like beacons at night, wake up to the sound of blaring car horns. New York was the only home that I ever knew.

Like the mature, agreeable adult that I was, I then ignored my father for a week straight, furious at his plans for sudden departure. It just wasn't fair.

I'm sure that Creede is a great town. It has the whole county thing going on and as an appreciator of great landscapes, I could admire the snow-capped hills and the rolling landscape which was both beautiful and breathtaking. But I was extremely determined to dislike it here and my childish self thought that if enough whining, complaining and moaning was enough, then my dad would eventually give in and take me back to wonderful York.

"Clarissa," my dad sighed, twining a lock of my hair in-between his fingers, "we've discussed this. I know that you want to go back to New York, but I'm afraid we're struck here. I know that you miss Simon and all your other friends and I promise that I'll pay for any phone-bills so you can stay in touch. I know that this whole moving thing is new to you and it can be a bit scary, but I promise that you'll settle in. I just want you to be happy here. Give Creede a chance, please?"

I sigh, feeling resignation at my father's soft tone. I hated to cause him any sort of grief, even if it was for my own benefit. "Okay, I'll try. But no promises!" I add in hastily at delight that flashes in my father's eyes.

"Thanks sweetheart," he said warmly, pulling me in for a bear-hug. I mumble something indistinguishable into his broad chest and grumble, allowing my child instincts to take over and feel young again. My father was a huge, hulking man but he was the kindest, sincerest, if not most protective person that I knew. He did everything for me. Besides, he was a hugger.

We stay like that for a few seconds before I pull away, instinctively looking at the malfunctioning mahogany clock that we had owned since I was four. My dad and I both knew that it was always thirteen minutes slow, so we always had to do an extra bit of math to figure out the time in our house. Apparently, the clock had been chosen by my mother herself, which was why he couldn't bear to part with it.

"Dad, school starts soon. Could you drop me off early?" I asked, feeling apprehension at the idea of new lockers and new faces and a hundred new names that I was going to have to memories by the end of the day. I wasn't exactly outgoing but I needed to feel optimistic and positive about this, for my father's sake.

Creede high school was located at the heart of the town, which made it pretty easy to find. That was the reason I gave my dad, at least. I was new, and if that didn't attract enough attention, it would be my dad walking me to school. I feared going there, not knowing anyone and stumbling around the schools to find a bathroom, or getting lost on the way to class. The last time I remember being this nervous was when we had to perform a play in preschool and I threw up on Tara Lewinsky. Hopefully, my gut would remain neutral as usual.

"Yes, of course. Get your things all ready and I'll meet you out front," he said fondly, patting my cheek. I mumble something that sounds like 'yeah, whatever' before heading upstairs to my room.

Dad had bought a plain, brick-built two storey house that was set on the edge of Aspen Avenue, one that was big in size but not so much in width. It was nice enough, I supposed, with its eggshell-white paint and the gold that fringed the windows and doors. It had three rooms, all identical with the same bland floorboards and the large window panes.

I finish gathering all of my supplies; pencil case, books and the house keys. All three of them, because I don't think that dad would let me leave the house without them. I had learnt that with my father, it was easy

As I pass the kitchen, I glance in the direction of the mantelpiece. Although we had various photos of my mother, this one was my favorite. It was a picture of my gorgeous mother, holding a tiny baby that was giggling in her arms. I had always considered myself as a less beautiful version of my mom, despite the reassurances from others that I looked exactly like her.

She had delicate, crimson curls that cascaded down her slender body, whilst I had a mess of carrot-colored twirls and twists that spiraled messily around my shoulders. She was gracefully tall, even in her youth, whilst I was unappealingly short with delicate limbs and a petite frame that was as flat as cardboard.

I was like a watered-down version of her, like an old picture that had been photocopied too many times. I hadn't received any of my father's dashing good looks, like his carefully tamed snow white hair, or his bottomless black eyes that bought every single Mrs Davis to our house with a seductive look and an apple pie.

My mother had died, when I was much younger. It had been winter, a snow-ridden day that was half-blurred in my memories. I had only been eight, so I couldn't remember much but it had been a very tragic time for my father and me. I had never seen my father cry, except for that one time at my mother's funeral. I think that my father had loved her too much, which can be dangerous, especially if you lose them.

I missed my mother dearly. I loved and cared for my father more than anything, but it was troubling to grow up without a motherly influence. I was always more of a tomboy, wearing old jeans and preferring to go play football than gather around a tree and talk about clothes.

I raised two fingers to my lips, kissed them briefly and tapped my mother's photo. She was grinning in that photo, a smile that was alight with mischief and trouble. It wasn't just beauty that attracted everyone, it was her fiery spirit and glowing nature. It was easy to see why my father had fallen in love with her.

"Love you mom," I whispered, fingers lingering on her face. Her eyes twinkled, like she was trying to say something to me. Good luck? I love you?

"Clary!" My father's voice called me from the front door. "We have to go!"

I hesitated, before walking off to re-join my patiently waiting father at the doorway.

I didn't look back.

* * *

The journey to my new school wasn't long. Going anywhere in this town only took a matter of mere minutes. My father attempted to engage me with some fruitless conversation about the weather, but I automatically tuned out, shrugging off his bland sentences about the weather. Apparently, there was an upcoming bout of snow that was expected at this time of year. Nerves bubbled viciously in the pit of my stomach and I was glad that I had little to eat for breakfast. I didn't think that throwing up on my first day would leave much of a good impression. Poor Tara Lewinsky. And she did look ever so pretty in her fairy costume.

We pulled to a sudden stop and I peered cautiously out of the dark-tinted window. Large, iron gates that were shaped like tiny honeycombs surrounded the school, fortifying everyone within. I grip onto my bag, nails digging into the leather straps. A bitter taste filled my mouth and I don't hesitate to swallow it back. I turn back to my smiling father, his eyes alight with expectancy. He reaches over to give me a brief, one-armed hug that lasts longer than I expected.

"Good luck sweetheart," he said warmly. I resist the urge to add 'if I don't die of confinement.' I didn't want to ruin his good mood. So I just grin nervously instead, patting his arm before stepping out the car.

Students were already trickling in, a few already littered across the courtyard. Some of them were already looking at me, sneaking glances that already spoke of the truth.

City girl. New Yorker. Outcast.

I sighed, hefting my bag over my shoulder.

This was going to be a long day.

 **Hope you enjoyed Chapter 2! Please review and keep reading.**

 **-happinesstrap xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Winter's Howl**

 **Hello! Stuff in beginning to happen in this chapter. Hope you enjoy and you keep reviewing. Read on!**

 **Chapter 3.**

 **-Clary-**

"So sweetheart, how was the first day of school?" I slumped into the crook of my seat, glancing up to my hopeful father. A forkful of spaghetti was half-way to my mouth; I reluctantly set it down in the remains of my dinner. The last twenty minutes were spent in a comfortable silence, eating out of the cheap plates my dad had bought at the local super-market.

We had originally planned for take-out due to the lack of cooking that was instituted in our household. Neither one of us could cook to save our lives so the usual dining options was the meal-for-two at Sao Mai, the medium pepperoni pizza from Domino's or the dumplings from the local Chinese restaurant. I couldn't remember the last time that our family had a proper, home cooked meal together.

However, there weren't many restaurants in Creede. After driving around for ten minutes or so, we found a number of cafes and a few restaurants that didn't seem half bad. However, most of them were closed so we settled for a tin of cold spaghetti that I figured even we, with our cooking-challenged talents, couldn't ruin. It was slightly burnt on the bottom, though, I noticed but ignored it. It had a pretty decent taste, if you could get over the lump of frozen sauce in the centre.

I pondered on my answer, debating on what to tell my dad. "School? It was, uh…okay, I guess." I didn't want to tell my dad the actual truth; that I actually hated my first day. Starting a new high school was like stepping into the Twilight zone. I didn't know anyone. Every face that passed was unfamiliar, masked with suspicion or curiosity. I had expected a few odd glances, but the unblinking stares was unnerving.

I felt like a complete alien, like I had just been dropped off the mothership, and not from my father's Vista Cruiser. I kept hoping for an introduction, or a wave of a hand, or even a smile. Something friendly that made me feel welcomed, even in the slightest. A huge ball of nerves had managed to gather in the pit of my stomach throughout the duration of the day, and I only felt it unravel when I had walked out of the school gates as quickly as possible.

The school was tiny, a slab of concrete in the center of the town. It had grimy windows and a small organic garden in the courtyard of the school grounds. I think I also saw a few chickens in there, as well as some rabbits. The students all looked the same, despite the differences in hair color, skin tones and clothing. It was then that I wished for a similar face, maybe even a resemblance to someone I knew. I felt like crying when I walked alone through the school, but forced back my tears. I hated it when other people saw me cry. I don't think anyone, besides my family and Simon, actually had.

But, the good news was that I found a friend. Well, sort of a friend. Her name was Aline Penhallow, and I met her during English. She had pretty, distinctly Asian features, with large dark eyes, slanting cheekbones and sweeping black hair. She was loud and fun and spoke her mind.

His eyebrows creep up to his hairline. "Okay?" He asked, swirling a few strands of spaghetti onto his fork. I nod, shrugging my shoulders as I finished off my dinner. I glanced at my expectant father, his ice white hair like camouflage against the newly finished walls. We had decided to paint the walls a lovely cream color, with the tiles a beige. The curtains were a dark aqua color that I loved, with a light yellow stitching.

"Yeah, I mean its high school. I wasn't expecting a road trip to Las Vegas or anything." My dad starts laughing, showing off a mouthful of gleaming, white teeth. I smiled, scraping out the last forkful of spaghetti.

"Which you're not allowed to go to," my father points out, resulting with me in an eye roll. My father, forever playing the over protective parent. I couldn't imagine any scenarios that initiated my coming-of-age without my father's worried face hanging around. Driving, graduation, college and even marriage…and now it seemed even Vegas was off the plate.

"Not yet, anyways." I smile sweetly at him and it's his turn to roll his eyes. I smiled, but inside I felt guilty at the fact that I had lied to my father. I hated my first day, but I couldn't tell him that. It was hard enough for him that I was against moving, but hating a place that I went to everyday? That would hurt his feelings, even if he tried to deny it.

He opens his mouth to speak but-

A sharp ringing penetrates the kitchen and echoes around the room. Our heads turn to the phone that resides in the counter of the room. The dull screen lights up and an unrecognizable number blinks at us rudely, blaring out a tune that sounds suspiciously like the National Anthem. I look over at my father and raise an eyebrow at his guilty face.

"Star Spangled Banner?" I asked and he looks at me with an abashed look on his face.

"It was for free," he protested, reaching for the phone. Grabbing our two dishes, I make my way to the sink and start to squirt detergent on the two of them. I used to love stealing the bottle out of the sink and spray bubbles all over the kitchen. Scrubbing down the plates, I begin to hum a childhood lullaby that my mother…

"Clarissa." My father's voice is sharp, laced with anxiety. I turned to him, my hands covered with frothy bubbles with a confused expression working itself onto my face. He had the phone pressed against his chest, his face pale and stricken. I swallowed, fear rearing its ugly head as I asses my father's expression.

"Dad?" I asked, hastily brushing the soap of my hands. "What's wrong?"

"Upstairs. Now." My dad's body is tense, shoulders tight with nerves. I shrank away from his cold words.

"But dad-"

"Now, Clarissa." I recoiled slightly at his words, flinching at the harshness of his tone. I didn't remember the last time he had spoken to me this harshly. I glance at the phone and wonder who was on the phone, and why was my dad so freaked out. Who could be possibly calling on a school night with something incriminating?

I left the room, quietly, with a scowl on my face. I stomped up the stairs, replaying the last few minutes in my head. I go into the sanctuary of my room, closing the door nosily behind me. I would normally try to eavesdrop on my father's conversation, to try and figure out who he was talking to. But my father had an inhuman sense of hearing, and even my quiet breaths were detectable by his ears. When I was a child, and I would try to sneak downstairs to listen to the television, my father knew I was there the minute I stepped outside my bedroom.

I sat down in my deckchair, spinning around. I tilted my head backwards and sighed. I hated my school, my father was keeping secrets from me and the attic upstairs made noises at night. I really wanted to speak with Simon, to hear his voice again but I decided against it. He had mentioned that he was going to visit his grandparents who lived up in the country, and they were strongly against the evil of technology. The closest they had to a phone was the milking bucket in the stables.

Rubbing my eyes, I yawned, suddenly exhausted. I hadn't realized just how tired I was –emotionally and physically- until I felt a wave of exhaustion travel through my body. I had felt like an insomniac the last few days, unable to sleep with all the unwanted excitement that had stumbled into my life. I needed something to help me sleep, something that wasn't chamomile tea or warm milk.

Listening for my dad's voice, I crept out of my room, conscious of the noise that this creaky old house would make. My father's room was located in the upper-right corner of the house, my room in the opposite location. As quickly and quietly as I could, I walked to his room. His door was open, so it was easy to get in. I looked over my shoulder, terrified that I would see my father's disapproving face in the doorway. Most of his stuff was unpacked, but his bag still remained on the floor. My dad was the epitome of human OCD, the champion of organizing procedure. Even his floss had am alphabetical system.

I went over to this bag, searching for his emergency medical kit. I zipped it open and ruffled through it, fingers searching for the bottle of pills I knew he had. He would freak out if he knew I was even considering the idea. I looked over my shoulder once more, chills tingling my spine. I popped open the lid, freezing as I waited for my father's voice to start scolding me.

I tipped the bottle sideways, two white pills slipping into my hand. I quickly closed the bottle, placed it back inside the bag and zipped it up before running out of the room. My room seemed like miles away, instead of meters. When I finally reached the door, I slammed it shut and leaned against the door. My heart was beating frantically, each breath coming out ragged and violent.

Once I had calmed down enough, I managed to cough down the two pills. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pajama pants. Slipping into bed, I flicked the lamp off and settled down into bed. Adrenalin sung in my veins; it was a rush. I had broken rules before, but I had never felt like this before. I could hear my own heart beat in my ears, each thump like the sound of a drum.

I rubbed at my eyes, waiting for the pills to kick in. My dad was careful, overly so, on medication. He always hovered over me when I took Panadol as a kid, making sure to re-read the instructions. He would freak if I even went a drop over.

I turned over to my side, trying to settle into my blankets. I felt uncomfortable, like there was a nest of ants under my dona. My skin burned and I waited for my eyes to start drooping. Humming under my breath, a song that had long gone forgotten, I turned to my other side.

It took a while, but I eventually fell asleep. Those must have not been sleeping pills, or they just didn't work. _I should tell dad,_ I thought sleepily. _No_ , I chided, _that would be bad._

* * *

 _Blood. It was everywhere. I glanced, side-from-side, and saw that it was all over the place. Kneeling down, I scoop up a handful of the stuff. It was snow, I realized. It burned into my hands and I gasped, letting it fall to the ground. It was cold, almost to the extent of being glacial. Crimson liquid glared in my peripheral vision, blood staining the snow-ridden ground. I looked at my side and jumped back; my hand was covered in blood, drops of red trickling down the sides of my arm._

 _I screamed, but it wasn't a scream. It was a howl which pierced the air, a very inhuman sound which tore out of my throat. I staggered, before dropping to the ground in a writhing, twisting motion. I felt like I was on fire, like every bone in my body was melting. I howled once more, feeling tears prick at my eyes. Then, suddenly, it wasn't just the ground that was red but the whole sky; the clouds, the sun and even the trees. Blood oozed from everything and I was choking in it, trying to breathe._

I woke up with a start, gasping with terror. Sweat drenched my clothes and my forehead, the stuff plastered all over my neck. I struggled for air, choking as I panted like a dog in heat. I wrenched the covers away and I stared at my hands, looking for any evidence of blood. But my hands were normal; calloused and clear of any red fluid. My breathing eventually returned to its usual state and my heartbeat decreased. I sat up in my bed and put my head in my hands, trying to calm down. My hair fell around my shoulders, red tendrils of soft, curly hair swinging gently in the air.

I breathed out, doing fire yoga breaths like Simon had taught me. One, I breathed. Two, I lay back down, this time with my sheets underneath me. Three, I brushed the sweaty stands of hair from my face. Four, I replayed the scenes from the Aristocats movie. Five, I closed my eyes. Six, I was eventually dozing off.

And by seven, I was fast asleep.

 **Yay! I finished. I'm so happy! Please review and keep reading! The next chapter will be up soon.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Winter's Howl**

 **Hey guys! The reviews were awesome and I really want to answer all of your questions, but the answers will soon arrive. Valentine is indeed Clary's father, not Luke but he will later appear in the later chapters. As for Jocelyn, not so much. But Jace will definitely be in this chapter. This was probably the hardest yet but I managed so, yay!**

 **Please keep reading! It will continue to get more interesting, I promise.**

 **Review and read on!**

* * *

I woke up the next morning, with half-blurred thoughts and cold sweat plastered to my face and neck. Groaning, I rubbed my forehead, sitting up in my bed. It creaked, protesting as my weight dipped into the mattress. Breathing out in slow breaths, I reached for the glass of water that I kept next to my bedside table. I gulped down the cool water eagerly, each swallow restoring my thirst. It eventually retreated, leaving me breathless and satisfied as I leaned back onto my bed head. I struggled to recall memories from last night, searching for anything I could remember. But nothing came up; only the feeling of panic lingered faintly in my body.

I sighed out in frustration, raking a hand through my hair. Something had happened; I just couldn't remember. It was like my mind had been wiped clean, a new slate replacing the previous one. I stared at my hands, examining my fingers. Red suddenly flashed across my vision; I jumped in my bed. But as quickly as it had came, it disappeared. Suddenly, it felt all to hot. I kicked off my blankets, shivering as the cold morning air greeted me. I checked the date on my phone, feeling satisfaction as I read it. Finally. Shrugging on a pair of old jeans and a band tee from Simon, my thoughts wandered to how quickly the week had gone by.

After an exhausting and testing week of wrestling through homework and new teachers, Friday had finally arrived. It was a breath of fresh air to know that you had two days of blissful nothingness to do. School in Creede was, _different_ , from what it was like in New York, but it wasn't terrible. I had Aline, my new friend, and her witty banter with the math teacher was funny. The students were all loud and interesting; they welcomed me in a way that made me feel included and liked. I could as far to say that I liked it. I didn't want to say it, but I was sort of, well, _warming_ up to Creede.

However, I could never forget about New York, or the people who lived there. I spoke to Simon almost every night, recounting my day in excruciating detail. He noted, most charmingly, that I nearly didn't complain as much as I first had. I really did miss him.

I wandered over to the bathroom, not bothering to even try and tame my wild hair. I just swept it up into a messy ponytail, grabbing a toothbrush and squirting some toothpaste onto it.

Climbing noisily down the stairs with a toothbrush stuffed in my mouth, I wrangle on a pair of shoes that refused to be put on. I'm just about to call for my dad but I then hear his voice, laced with concern and anxiety, float from the kitchen. I pause, my pulse beating rapidly in my chest. Was it the same person from last night?

Hesitantly, I take another cautious step, careful of the creaks that it might create. I wince as a hiss of noise erupts quietly from the floorboards. I just hope he didn't hear. I hold my breath, straining my ears for my dad's voice. It's louder this time, strained and cracked as he continues to talk in a hushed tone.

"…what do you mean you can't come Magnus?" I frown, shifting through names to see if I recognized it. Magnus? It drew an absolute blank. My brow furrowed, confusion knitting through my thoughts. "Why can't you make it?" There was a brief pause and I risked peeping out from behind the wall.

My father was leaning against the counter, the home phone pressed tightly against his ear. His knuckles were strained, stark white and tight with tension, his hand gripping the edge of the counter-top. I blink in confusion at the sight of my father. I don't remember him ever being this serious, ever. I forget about the toothbrush in my mouth and wipe the foam from the corners of my mouth. I glance sideways and spit out the remains into the bin, as quietly as I can. I swear that my dad had super-sonic hearing sometimes.

"A party? That's why you can't come? Are you serious?" Another pregnant second fills the room. My dad sighs in frustration, raking a hand through his usually-neat hair. "Yes, yes of course Magnus, I understand. I know that it's part of our compromise. But she's already past her date and…" he hesitates before answering. "She's beginning to show symptoms already and-what? Yes, but it's run out already and she's showing resistance to it." He groaned once more, blowing out an exasperated breath. "Yes, you've told me Magnus. Ten times already."

What was he talking about? I shake my head, wondering if I was hearing right. Who was resisting against what? I lean forward but I was so caught up that I didn't notice the forgotten cardboard box that sat unnoticed before me. A yelp escaped my lips and I felt the sensation of having my feet swept from, the feeling of flying forwards. I open my eyes to see the ground coming towards me and I brace my hands for impact. My legs sprawl and knock into each other, clumsily tripping over the box. I collapse into a heap, groaning as the dull pain travels through my body.

"Ouch!" I groan through gritted teeth, shaking my head groggily.

"Clary?" My dad's voice is concerned, familiar. I opened my eyes to see him bent over me, brows furrowed. I swallowed, remembering the conversation that I had overheard. Did he know that I been listening? I'm about to ask him who Magnus was, but decide against it. There was definitely another time for it.

I smiled weakly and use my arms to prop myself up, brushing the hair out of my face. "Hey, dad."

"Are you okay? You had a pretty nasty fall." I shook off his attempts to help me, bracing a hand against the wall. It feels rough and dusty under my touch, like it hadn't been dusted for a while. I then wandered how long it had been since someone had lived here.

"Yeah, yeah I think I'm okay."

"Hmm…the first signs of concussion. I'm going to get an ice-pack." I rolled my eyes, patting his shoulder with a reassurance that I hoped was strong enough for him not to drag me to the nearest hospital. It had happened before.

"Dad, I'm fine. I promise I don't have a concussion."

"I suppose," my dad eyed me with scrutiny. I did an exaggerated little spin, showing that I was fine.

"See? It's all good," I said, grinning. "All better." My dad looks at me with a _really_ look and grasps my hand, despite my protests. He examines it with care, holding it like it was a delicate vase that had to be treated with the most attainable vigilance. I huffed with obvious annoyance, feeling slightly pissed. I was not something small and precious and weak. I scanned my hand but spotted a mottled bruise that had formed on the palm of my hand. It was yellowing slightly and was roughly the size of a small stone. It was a bit sore, beating like it had its own heart.

"Eugh," I said with a nonchalance. "Guess I was wrong." But before I could even move, the most peculiar thing occurred. My bruise started to shrink, the soreness also reducing. I stared at it with amazement, my mouth hanging open with shock. The color also disappeared and within seconds, it was gone completely. It was silent, even the air stilled with shock. I gaped at my now-gone sore, feeling more confused than ever. What was going on? I look desperately at my father, hoping that he had answers. I was not, however, expecting him to have a look of complete terror on his face. He was completely pale, muttering incomprehensible words that I couldn't make out.

"Dad?" I dared ask. "Daddy, what's wrong?" I hadn't called him that for years. I didn't even try breathing as the room was suffocating, thick with tension. He was staring at my freckled hand like it was the worst thing in the world, like a ghost from his past. "Dad!" I said more loudly. "Valentine, please!" I had never called him that before.

"Get in the car." My dad's voice was the same as before; sharp as a knife, fringed with a hidden fear and worst of all, terrified. Parents weren't supposed to be scared. They were supposed to be the ones who held your hand in the dark, the people who held you during the thunderstorms, the ones who reassured you that there were no monsters under your bed. They weren't supposed to look like this, with an expression of complete and utter terror.

"What?" I asked, dumbstruck. Was he seriously going to not tell me what the hell was going on?

"Get in the car Clarissa. Now." I refused to cringe at the steel, the barely hidden anger in his voice. It was hard, admittedly. The words felt like he had just slapped me, burning my chest.

"Dad, you can't just-"

"Clarissa, I won't say it again. Get. In. The. Car." I glared at him, my face twisted up into a scowl. I moodily grab my bag, purposely not looking at him and stomped my way to the car. I wasn't a child for Christ's sake! When was my father going to realize that I was not a little girl anymore? I knew that he was hiding something from me, I thought as I climbed into the back seat of the car, but the problem was, I didn't know what.

* * *

"So, why is this so surprising?" My question seems to intrigue Aline, who was so deeply into this topic that she was gesturing with her hands. We were supposed to be running laps in Sport, but since we deemed ourselves as physically incapable, we chose to just walk the next few meters.

"Because my parents are the biggest control freaks in Colorado. It would be a miracle if they let me go out at night, much less New York. You're from there, right?" Aline asked, a gleam sparking in her dark eyes. My heart pangs when Aline says _New York_.

"Yeah, I am," I said, glancing around the field. The fast runners were all on their last lap; the slower ones were lagging behind, grimacing as sweat poured down their faces. I sighed, flicking a strand of red hair out of my vision.

"So?" I looked at her, questioning. Aline gives me an _uh duh_ look.

"So what?"

"So, what's it like?" She said with a smile.

"It's big," I shrugged, like talking about my dearly missed hometown wasn't bothering me at all. "It's loud. Like, really loud." I looked once again at Aline and see her pointed look. "What?" I asked defensively.

"That's all? It's big? It's loud?"

"What, it is!" I said, sending her a weirded out glance.

"What's with your lack of creativity?" She bumps her shoulder against mine but because I'm so short, she misses and hits my head instead. I scowl at her, rubbing my head gingerly while she laughs.

"Ouch! Hey, watch it weirdo." I teased, swatting her shoulder.

"Whatever, titch. Now, as I was saying-"

"Penhallow! Morgenstern! If you don't start running now, you'll be doing detention for a week!" Mr Hillwood, our temperamental sports teacher, hollered at us from across the field. He was a huge, beefy man with a large, brown mustache that hung proudly from his upper lip like a squirrel. He was completely bald, only a few straggling grey hairs on his round head. He spent most of the lesson either yelling at us, reading sports magazines or eating from his endless supply of food. An ever-growing potbelly protruded from his stomach, fueled by the never-ending stream of Taco Bell, Domino's pizza and Crispy Crème Donuts.

Needless to say, I wasn't overly fond of him. Neither was Aline, it seemed.

"Grumpy old troll," Aline muttered to me and I can barely contain the snickers that build in my chest. We start running, Aline effortlessly sprinting away with her long, gazelle legs. She slows down though, so we run together through the shorn grass. We spend the next few minutes in silence, the cool wind brushing against our faces with it's cool fingers.

"So, you wanna go to New York some day?" I asked, gasping for air. Sweat was gathered in pools, dripping down my face in a teardrop-like fashion.

"It's a million miles away from here, C," Aline winked, jogging neatly beside me. I huffed grumpily, rolling my eyes. By the time we finish running laps, most of the class had completed them as well. We collapsed at the foot of the gnarled oak tree, panting heavily with labored breaths. I swallowed large amounts of air into my wheezing lungs, battling for oxygen. Aline lets out a groan, her short ink black hair sticking up in the most peculiar places.

"My legs will never be the same," she complained with an air of annoyance. I manage to send her a weak grin, despite the difficultly I had even breathing. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

As we struggle to regain our building, a reoccurring question popped into my head. "Hey Aline?" I asked, tightening the grip my hair tie had on my ponytail.

"Yeah?" She breathed out, her head resting against the truck of the tree.

"Have you ever..." I hesitated, wringing my fingers in my lap, "...gotten a bruise before?"

"Of course I have," she blinked, confused. "You know how many times I've sneaked out of my house and fell over?" Aline, I gathered, was a bit of a party-girl and forever rebelling against her over-bearing parents.

"Well, yeah, but has it ever, like, healed really quickly?" I wanted to add _'for example, in a mere matter of a few seconds'_ , but didn't.

"No. It usually takes a few days. Why?" She asked, but I could tell that she was losing interest as she watched a red-faced Mr Hillwood try and touch his toes. His massive arms strained against his red shirt and the whole class groaned as he showed off his huge backside. Aline covered her eyes as his jogging shorts slipped down an inch and exposed his butt-crack.

"Nothing," I lied, watching a bird fly off a branch. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Unfortunately, Sport wasn't the only exhausting period we had today.

Our last class was held in 204, dictated by an especially grumpy Mr Harpers. The weather was still miserable, a depressing grey that tinted the sky with a silver sheen. Aline and I were caught up, because Aline was once again arguing with our English teacher about an assignment. Really, it was amusing to see her persist to Mrs Silone that she did hand in her project but she just 'wasn't looking for it properly'. However, I had to drag her away before we were late to class.

Aline and Mr Harper seemed to have a very special relationship, based off mutual hate and distrust. No matter how many times Mr Harper threatened to suspend her, he never got around to it. The rest of the class was entertained by their daily arguments which seemed to consist of most of the lesson. Aline had insisted that he was wrong, that her test was 98%, and that Mr Harper was losing his eyesight more rapidly each day.

By the time we walked in, we were already two minutes late. The rest of the class were seated already, either hastily finishing off last minute homework or chatting with neighbors. Mr Harpers was also at his desk, shuffling through a stack of papers that suspiciously looked like expulsion forms. He looked up and a scowl blessed his wrinkled face.

"Ah, Miss Penhallow. I see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence," he said dryly, carefully setting down his papers.

"I only come here to see you, Henry," Aline winked, using his first name as she usually did. Her comment earned a few sniggers from the people who were listening. Mr Harpers tutted and looked at her sternly.

"The day you graduate is the day that I celebrate," said Mr Harpers with a sadistic tone in his dry voice. He seemed to have a comment ready to go.

"And the day you retire is when the student body throws a party," said Aline just as quickly.

"Take a seat, Miss Penhallow. You too, Miss Morgenstern." I utter an abashed apology before taking Aline by the hand and dragging her away before she can say anything else. We head to the back of the room, looking for a seat. I noticed that there was only one seat, next to Jamaia Kingston. Aline glanced at her and looked like she had half a mind to tell poor Jamaia to move. I decide that Aline could be scary enough if she wanted to and that this girl didn't deserve it.

"It's fine Aline," I told her, shrugging my shoulders. "I'll find another seat."

"You sure?" She asked me. I wave my hand in an airy reassurance and walk away towards the left. My eyes scanned for another seat, searching for a spare chair. There were no other seats that I could see, until I look to the back left corner and spot an empty spot that had one occupant. I hastily make my way over there and take the seat. I cringed as the legs of the chair scraped the floor and let out a whine. Mr Harper sends me a dirty look and I mouth _sorry_ before he turns his attention to the front row, who are engaging in a battle of spit balls.

I sit down and pull out my books and a pencil case, sighing. I glanced sideways at my partner, wondering who it was. The person, by chance, also looks up and meets my eyes at the same time.

Wow.

He was gorgeous, insanely so. Even an idiot could see that. I could feel my own breath catch in my throat. Usually, I didn't notice guys but even I could appreciate how handsome he was. Blonde curls framed a sharp, angled face, the fluorescent light casting shadows across his slanting cheekbones. Buttery-colored eyes, which had flecks of darker gold near the pupil, were only emphasized by dark, long eyelashes. I could tell that he was very tall, even sitting down. Long, lean and muscled all over his body. I felt heat rush up my neck, probably coloring my cheeks.

Our eyes met, gold clashing with green. I held my breath and could do nothing more than stare at him like an idiot. His gaze was smouldering, intense like an open flame that seemed to burn forever. It was frightening, but very intriguing. I was pretty sure that my mouth was open, now that I think about it. I couldn't move, which was strange; it was like the feeling of paralysis. The same sensation traveled up my spine and spread through my veins like a poison. But there was something else that struggled inside of my body, like it was trying to connect with something else. It was at first, faint, but grew stronger and stronger. But suddenly, Mr Harpers droning voice cuts across the classroom like a knife. A blunt, useless knife. Whatever feeling I had had before disappeared almost immediately.

I cleared my throat suddenly, feeling a tickle in the back of my mouth. I turn my head and cough into my hand, feeling glad that I wasn't looking at him anymore. I turn my head to the front of the room, where Mr Harper was scratching away at the blackboard with a stub of chalk. I look dead ahead, my fingers playing with a pen. But we're sitting so close, that I feel the heat burn off his body. I shift my chair sideways, discreetly.

The lesson ploughs through with the same flow that classes usually have. My eyes continuously flit to the ancient clock that sits on the wall behind the droning Mr Harper, the hands barely even moving. _Come on_ , I plead it on, _come on please._ I frowned at the dull clicking noise that registers in the air but I brush it off as boredom.

"Could you please stop that?" A musical voice asked. It was a quiet, melodic tone that drips with a seductive honey like charm. I turn my head to my neighbor, feeling bewildered. What was I doing? I looked at him once more, our eyes meeting. The same sensation as before started but I forced it down. What good would it do for me? Besides, he looked like he had ten girlfriends already.

He looks even more attractive than before, his smouldering gaze ten times more powerful, his perfect facial expression blessed with a tiny smirk.

"What?" I said stupidly, letting my mouth do the talking. He flashed me a blinding grin, one that made me blink in shock. Just like the rest of him, his teeth were perfect, a gleaming array of glittering gems.

"Your pen." He gestured an elegant hand towards my fingers, my index one clicking furiously away at the notch of my pen. Now, I knew what that persistent clicking sound was. _Oops_ , I think before stopping the movements and gingerly setting the pen down. It was a nervous habit of mine, one that had annoyed Simon to no end.

I send him a sheepish, apologetic grin. "Sorry," I heard myself saying.

"It's fine. Just grates on my nerves," he said, shrugging. He looks at me more closely. "Are you new here?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"What's your name?" He asked, shifting his position.

"Clary," I said, but even to myself I sounded uncertain.

He smiled at that. I noticed that he had a slight chip in his incisor; which I felt a little relieved. It couldn't be possible for him to be that perfect. "Clary," he mused, drawing out the syllables. "Like the herb."

"Yeah, clary sage." My dad told me that my mother had decided to call me that because on their first date they had had the herb clary sage for their dinner.

"Clary sage," he repeated. I grinned, despite myself but then something hits me in the back of my head.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, even though it didn't hurt the slightest. Human instinct, I supposed. Jace gives me an odd look but I ignore it. I looked down at the accused object, a scrunched up piece of paper that is shaped into a ball. I glance at it and look around the room before finding the culprit. Aline is looking at me with two wide eyes, bewilderment painting her face. Her mouth was slightly open, shock schooling her elegant features.

I give her a strange look, mouthing ' _what?'_ She gives me a ' _come on stupid'_ look before jerking her head towards the boy next to me. I look at him, then back at her. ' _Really?_ ' She mouths to me before shaking her head. I give her a flick of my hand before turning away.

We spend the next few minutes in silence. Mr Harpers was oblivious to our conversation. I supposed that we were very far away, practically in Mr Harper's blind spot. I was so used to being in the third or fourth row with all of Aline's loud friends who loved to chat all class. It was a change; a nice one, I decided.

"Where are you from?" The boy asked abruptly. I shift my head slightly to meet his gaze. He looked interested, patiently waiting for my answer.

"New York," I replied, the name burning my tongue. I missed it so much; the way the city would illuminate at night, the metallic taste of Brooklyn.

"Did you move with your family?"

The same sensation of annoyance and sadness passes over me; I was used to this question. "You ask a lot of questions," I said instead, narrowly avoiding answering.

"Probably because you don't answer them as correctly as you should," he said just as quickly. I narrowed my eyes, furrowing my brow.

We had a staring contest, my eyes burning into his. "Just with my father," I mumbled out, tearing my gaze away. I wait for the typical 'what about your mother?' question that people always asked, but it doesn't come.

But it didn't; all he did was nod his head and say, "Good."

A sharp, shrill noise cuts across our conversation, sounding much more tumultuous than usual. Was it just me? I jolt in my seat as I realize the closeness between him and I. We were both unknowingly leaning in, more closely than we should be. In fact, I could almost feel his warm breath on my face, the small flecks of syrup-colored flecks in his gold irises. I inwardly move backwards, clearing my voice for the second time before scrambling out my seat.

"Uh, nice meeting you," I uttered out, grabbing my things as quickly as I could manage. "Bye, I guess."

I don't give him a chance to reply before meeting a shell-shocked Aline by the door. I grabbed her hand and dragged her away, feeling the heat slowly reduce from my cheeks. People were trickling out of classrooms, each immersed in their own conversations. Aline made a noise of indignation and pulled her hand out of mine, stopping me.

"What was that Clary?" Aline demanded.

"What was what?" I asked, completely confused. She looked at me, rolling her eyes at my befuddlement.

"Hello? You were talking to Jace Herondale!" The awe in her voice was enough to make me cringe. So that was his name, I mused. _Jace_. It was different. But the way she said his name! As if he were some sort of revered, untouchable person who was worshiped by everyone else.

"So?"

"So? SO? Because half the school is in love with him!" She nearly shouted.

"And that is amazing because…" I supposed he was very handsome, but knowing Aline, she could be exaggerating. Half the school? Seriously?

"I've never seen him even look at another person, much less speak! At first, I thought he was mute, but then he spoke to you. It was-"

"Historic?" I teased her. "Momentous? Inspiring? Come on, let's go." I start heading to our lockers, near the bottom left of the building. She follows me with an exasperated sigh.

"Clary, he's like legend at this school! But you're the first person, beside his siblings and one or two teachers, I've seen him even talk to!"

"He has siblings? He must be so special!" I exaggerated, opening my mouth for effect.

"They're called Isabelle and Alec Lightwood, his adoptive brother and sister," Aline said, ignoring the sarcasm. "They like to keep to themselves, don't really interact with anyone. But he spoke to you, even-"

"I think we've established that he's talked to me. Quite a while ago, actually," I said patiently, guiding her down the stairs. Students clattered around us in groups, each chatting animatedly about their weekend plans.

I felt relived at the fact that the weekend had arrived and smiled.

Ah.

* * *

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 **-happinesstrapxx**


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